SXSW 2006 Photo Diary, Pt. 1

SXSW is over, at last. Every year the music media conspires to inundate the public with features about how they saw acoustic Flaming Lips sets, impromptu Beastie Boys throwdowns, and late-night Animal Collective freakouts at a secret, undisclosed locations, and yoooou didn't. These things have always bugged me. I mean, who really cares? So they went down to their dumb little music conference and partied with Britt Daniel until five in the morning and looked on as the music industry kissed itself in the mirror. Our dads could kick their dads' asses, anyway.

But you know what I realized that's so awful? When you get the chance to experience this stuff first-hand, and it was so ridiculously, unbelievably, absurdly fun, all you want to do is write about it. So here's the thing: This scrapbooky little photo feature is more for me than for you. I'm mostly writing it because I want to have something semi-concrete to remember the weekend by, and publishing it because if I just throw it on my hard drive somewhere I'll probably lose it eventually. So let's do this now and get it over with. SXSW 2006 Photo Diary, Pt. 1.

Envelopes The Parish, 214B East 6th Street 8:00 p.m. Wednesday

Envelopes seemed surprisingly confident, if a bit shy, for what was said to be their first performance on U.S. soil. With the mild buzz surrounding their debut album, Demon , and the record due to hit the states in just a few weeks, I thought I'd swing by the Parish and see if the Sweden-based band was any better live than they were on disc. They were. For one, in a live setting, you can see how cute they are. For another, they're happy to inform you when you've just heard the "hit single"; the album makes you guess.

Voxtrot Emo's Main Room, 603 Red River Street 9:00 p.m. Wednesday

The blog frenzy surrounding these dudes is out of control. Their simply average set at Emo's Main Room wasn't likely to win over anyone who hadn't already heard either of their recent EPs: Their songs are better on record than they are live. But while largely unremarkable, the performance showed potential: With more experience and a more adventurous streak, Voxtrot could evolve into a band worth flying 500 miles to see.

Belong Habana Calle 6, 709 East 6th Street 10:00 p.m. Wednesday

I've been listening to New Orleans' doomy ambient duo Belong for months: Their debut album, October Language , is beautifully drony, drawing equally from Fennesz, Tim Hecker, and William Basinski's apolcalyptic Disintegration Loops . These kinds of things almost never translate live; the performers rarely perform, content to stand idly in the dark, staring into the blue glow of Powerbook screens. Belong wisely employed the traditional ambient-band live-show distraction-- a film screen cycling through moody, nostalgic 8mm loops-- while grinding on guitars and manipulating pedals and noiseboxes. This setup is nothing new, but it all came together spectacularly well for Belong, due to the unusually gripping film work (bizarre animations and obscure rock band footage, instead of the usual desolate landscapes) and their music's gritty, forboding gloom.

Frog Eyes Habana Calle 6, 709 East 6th Street 11:30 p.m. Wednesday

Meanwhile, the Absolutely Kosher showcase was in full effect outside on the Habana Calle 6 patio, and after sets from Goblin Cock (who I'd missed), Ex-Boyfriends (whose unrelenting, full-force nasal-pop assault contrasted obnoxiously with Belong), and Pidgeon (who sounded all right during the 15 seconds in which I had time to pay attention) came the speed-freak bombast of Frog Eyes. With a new release just over the horizon-- and with pals, compatriots, and sometime-bandmates like Spencer Krug and Dan Bejar having recently skyrocketed to the top of the indie rock heap-- the band is just about due for its day in the sun. "Freedom" was the word of the night-- mostly because frontman Casey Mercer kept inexplicably Tourette's-shouting it between songs-- but also the order of the day, as their Xiu Xiu/Man Man/Wolf Parade hybrid stunned showgoers: Frog Eyes may not veer towards the conventional end of the indie spectrum, but somehow manage to mold inaccessible guitar noise, whines and yelps into fascinating backwards pop songs.

I'd seen Minneapolis four-piece Tapes 'n Tapes once before, a few months back at Schubas in Chicago. So it was a bit odd to see them again in Austin, at a party thrown by the same venue. Now they were playing in a parking lot out back of an amateur art gallery in broad daylight and an early midday heat that threatened to become unbearable. Though the small tent and brief set made for less-than-optimal conditions, Tapes 'n Tapes brought their charismatic enthusiasm and tunnelling conviction, sending fists into the humid air and a nearby seven-year-old into seizures.

Wu-Tang Clan Stubb's BBQ, 801 Red River Street 3:00 p.m. Thursday

After watching South London favorites Art Brut conquer one of VICE magazine's many sponsor-drenched hipster parades, we were all set to cross the street to see Islands rock the Longbranch Inn. Unfortunately, the venue was all off-schedule, and we didn't have time to slog through a set by Oxford's the Young Knives. So it was off to the Parish for the "Immediate Media Presents South by Stereogum" party. But then on the drive over, we heard "Protect Ya Neck" blasting from Stubb's BBQ-- and it didn't sound recorded. Dropping everything and darting into the venue, we looked on in awe as GZA, Deck, Raekwon, and U-God played the hits, with Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra backing them up. No Ghostface, sadly, but with W's up and "C.R.E.A.M." screaming out the stacks, no one bitched.

Arriving at the Stereogum party just as Ted Leo and his Pharmacists prepared to take the stage, I ran into everyone in the world, and ended up spending most of the time backstage with Scott Allen from Thunderbirds Are Now. I did get to watch Ted for a couple of songs, but come on-- there was a Whole Foods spread back there, and a fucking couch, and a fan! Later I embarrassed myself by not recognizing John Vanderslice (to his face), drunkenly filming a segment for "New York Noise" (please don't ask-- no really, please), and shaking Har Mar Superstar's hand, which might have been anywhere. I will say, for the three songs I saw Leo perform (and the rest that I heard from various other spots), that band just gets tighter by the day. Its synchronization was superhuman.

Flash forward, I decided to finally go see the Plastic Constellations, at the urging of pretty much everyone I know, and holy shit these dudes are mindblowing live. Only problem is, with the exception of "Phoenix and the Faultline", Aaron Mader and Jeff Allen haven't managed to fully capture the full gale of their dual-guitar attack on record yet. Of course, that didn't keep it from hitting someone new between each song: "These guys are fucking amazing!" Later, Hold Steady frontman Craig Finn, who'd been watching at the foot of the stage, gave a ringing endorsement, joining them onstage as guest vocalist.

Going on my sixth show of the day, a disappointment was due sooner or later. Oxford Collapse had my hopes up-- their last album earned them a strong enough following to get them signed by Sub Pop, and fellow Pitchfork staffer Matt LeMay counts himself among their devotees-- but despite my willingness to give them the benefit of the doubt, their show didn't convince me. They were in decent form, enthusiastic, with songs striking tight and strong showmanship, but for a straightforward indie rock trio, the hooks weren't coming-- the songs were virtually indistinguishable. I'm still anxious to hear the next record, but left the venue a bit confused over their appeal.

Figurines Karma Lounge, 119 West 8th Street 1:00 a.m. Friday

After making my way to the Velvet Spade for a few minutes of Man Man, I ended up trudging all the way across town to see Goldfrapp, only to catch the last two songs. So then it was off to Karma Lounge-- without question, the ugliest venue I found myself in while in Austin-- for one of my most anticipated shows of the weekend. Like Tapes 'n Tapes, Copenhagen-based indie rockers Figurines don't seem interested in reinventing the wheel: There's no gimmickry and no innovation, just tightly packed, perfectly condensed, undiluted pop songs. Christian Hjelm is a bit sassier than I'd have liked for a frontman of such an otherwise unpretentious band-- he chews gum, and unfortunately, strikes some girlish poses-- but the band sounded fantastic blasting "The Wonder" and "Rivalry" at top volume.